Cover

Dedication

This one is for Tommy – the latest addition to the family.

Introducing DI Walker and his team …

Introducing DI Walker and his team …

This is the second book in the DI James Walker series. For those who haven’t read the first, The Christmas Killer, here is a brief introduction to the man himself and the key members of his team.

DETECTIVE INSPECTOR JAMES WALKER, AGED 40

An officer with the Cumbria Constabulary based in Kendal. He spent 20 years with the Met in London before moving to the quiet village of Kirkby Abbey. He’s married to Annie, aged 36, who was born in the village and works as a teacher.

DETECTIVE CHIEF INSPECTOR JEFF TANNER, AGED 46

James’s boss and a highly experienced officer who prefers to delegate rather than investigate. He’s married with a son.

DETECTIVE SERGEANT PHIL STEVENS, AGED 38

A no-nonsense detective who got off on the wrong foot with James because he was in line for the DI job when the man from London arrived on the scene and took it. Now a loyal colleague, he is married with two children.

DETECTIVE CONSTABLE JESSICA ABBOTT, AGED 33

Youngest member of the team and of Irish and East African descent. She’s sassy, as sharp as a razor, and not afraid to speak her mind. She has the closest working relationship with James. Her boyfriend is a paramedic.

PROLOGUE

Sunday December 24th

It was 6.30 p.m. on Christmas Eve and Robert Bateman felt like getting drunk. He accepted that it would have to wait until he got home though, as he didn’t dare risk being stopped and breathalysed by the police. That’d be a disastrous end to what had already been a crap day.

He decided instead to polish off what was left in his glass and resist the urge to order another pint at the bar.

Mary had expected him home ages ago. He’d phoned her directly after his meeting in Kendal with the bank manager, telling her he was on his way. But rather than drive straight to the farm – which would have taken him only about thirty minutes – he’d opted to make a pit stop at his favourite pub, The King’s Head, in Kirkby Abbey.

He’d hoped it would allow him time to calm down and get his thoughts together before facing his wife and daughter. But after nursing his beer for almost an hour, his insides were still tied up in an anxious knot.

It wouldn’t have been so bad if it was just the news from the bank manager that he had to worry about. But there was also the text he’d received earlier, which had planted a heavy weight in his chest. He tugged his phone from his pocket to read it again and found it just as alarming as he had when he’d first seen it.

I’ve had enough now and I’m not going to take any more of your shit. You’re about to discover that I don’t make empty threats, Bateman.

It seemed like the pressure was being ramped up by the hour and there was nothing he could do about it.

It didn’t help that he knew he was solely responsible for the fact that they were being forced to sell the farm. He’d failed to rise to the challenge of keeping the business afloat during tough times, and he’d made matters worse by trying to reduce the mountain of debt through gambling, as he’d placed far more bad bets than good ones.

Now he had no choice but to make his wife aware of the true extent of their financial woes. She knew that they were going to have to leave Oaktree Farm, their home for over twenty years, but she had no idea how much money they would still owe even after that. Or just how hard it was going to be to get back on their feet.

They were both in their early fifties and the farm had been their life for two decades. Job prospects for people like them were pretty dire, and it seemed highly unlikely that he’d be able to get another business off the ground at this stage.

It was no wonder, therefore, that he was weighed down by guilt. He’d let his family down. And now he was going to have to face the consequences.

He looked around at the other customers in the bar. They all lived in the village and he’d known most of them for years. He would certainly miss them if he and Mary were forced to move away from the area, something they might have to consider given the mess they were in.

The thought that this could be their last Christmas as part of the community filled him with sadness. He so wished it hadn’t come to this.

He issued a heavy sigh before finishing the last of his beer. Then he pushed his chair back, stood and pulled on his padded, waterproof jacket. He was about to head for the door when he paused, deciding to buy some booze to take home.

Martha Grooms, the landlady, was behind the bar. She was a large woman in her sixties with an oval face framed by shapeless grey hair.

When she saw him, she said, ‘I’m sorry I haven’t had a chance to come over and chat to you, Rob. But as you can see, we’re busy this evening.’

‘No problem, Martha,’ he replied. ‘I only popped in for a swift one. I’ve been into Kendal for a meeting with the bank manager. Now I have to get home to the missus.’

‘And how is Mary?’

‘Oh, she’s grand, thanks.’

‘Will we be seeing you over Christmas? We’ve still got spaces if you want to come for lunch tomorrow, and we’re laying on a special Boxing Day buffet.’

Robert shrugged. ‘I’ll have to speak to Mary. She’s got loads in. My daughter Charlotte and her boyfriend Neil are staying with us. But if they’re up for it, I am.’

‘Well, pass on my best wishes if you all decide to stay at the farm.’

‘I will. Now before I go, can you give me two bottles of your house white wine and a bottle of sherry?’

‘Coming right up,’ she said, and moments later passed them to him in a plastic carrier bag.

He paid her in cash and she handed over the change along with a receipt.

Outside, the temperature had plummeted and the snow that had fallen earlier lay like a blanket across the village. Once Robert was behind the wheel of his Land Rover he switched on the heater.

As he pulled out of the car park, he tried to force his mind away from his mounting problems so that he could concentrate on driving. Home was nine miles from the village and the ice and uncleared snow made the roads treacherous.

The journey along the winding country lanes was slow and thankfully uneventful, and he finally arrived home just before seven.

Oaktree Farm was situated off the beaten track between two of Cumbria’s many spectacular fells. It gave off the only light for miles around.

Robert pulled up in the large front yard between the two-storey house and the old barn. He switched off the ignition, then the lights.

He told himself that he wouldn’t burden Mary with their money worries until after Boxing Day when their lawyer came to the farm for the meeting he had arranged. Instead, he would try his best to make this an enjoyable family Christmas. After all, the last time he saw Charlotte was when they got together to celebrate Mary’s fifty-fifth birthday three weeks ago. Their daughter had moved into Neil’s flat in Kendal back in June and since then had only visited the farm a handful of times.

He was looking forward to finding out how the pair were getting on and if Charlotte was enjoying her new job as a shop assistant in the town.

As he stepped out of the Land Rover with the bag of drinks, he glanced up at the brightly lit windows and felt a tremor of anxiety. It suddenly occurred to him just how hard it was going to be to put on a brave face and enter into the spirit of Christmas. In fact, he was pretty sure that he wouldn’t be able to make it work without plenty of booze inside him. So, getting tipsy as soon as possible was a priority. The thought actually made him smile as he headed towards the house.

But the smile slipped away when something caught his eye.

There was a set of shoeprints in the otherwise pristine snow, and Robert was sure that they hadn’t been there earlier. They were coming from the road and leading over to the steps on the right side of the house, the ones that descended to the cellar door.

And yet there were no prints going in the opposite direction.

It puzzled him because the cellar door was always locked and there was only one set of keys, which hung from a hook in the kitchen. What’s more, Mary rarely ventured down there because she’d convinced herself many years ago that it was haunted.

He tightened his grip on the bag and went to investigate. What he saw made him frown further.

The shoeprints went down the steps and stopped in front of the door, which suggested that whoever had gone in there hadn’t yet come out.

But who could it be?

He was about to go down and check when the sound of raised voices suddenly came from inside the house. They were loud enough to cause a blast of alarm to shoot through him.

Instinct told him that what was going on in the house had to be more important than what might be happening in the cellar, so he turned sharply on his heels and rushed towards the front door.

Just as he reached it, the shouting was drowned out by a high-pitched scream that sent his pulse racing.

Then, as he pushed the door open, another sound reached him.

The sound of breaking glass.

CHAPTER ONE

Wednesday December 27th

James Walker woke up suddenly, his mind dragged from sleep by the shriek of the alarm telling him it was 07.30.

He stretched his arm out from under the duvet and switched it off.

‘Is it time to get up already?’ his wife murmured beside him.

He rolled over so that he was facing her, just making out her features in the dark.

‘I’m afraid so,’ he whispered. ‘Work beckons once again.’

Christmas had been and gone and today he was due to return to his job as a detective inspector with the Cumbria Constabulary based in Kendal. He wasn’t looking forward to it because he had really enjoyed spending so much alone time with Annie, especially given that this was their last Christmas as a family of two.

Annie was finally expecting and they couldn’t be more thrilled.

‘I’m going to miss you being here,’ she said, snuggling up to him. ‘It’s been fun with just the two of us.’

He felt a rush of emotion and ran a hand through her thick black hair.

‘Well at least you don’t have to go back to work yet,’ he said. ‘So, make the most of the next couple of weeks.’

Annie was now employed full time as a teacher at Kirkby Abbey’s primary school, which had been given a reprieve from closure for at least a couple of years. The job suited her well and the school was only a short walk from their cottage on the edge of the village.

‘There’s plenty to keep me occupied,’ Annie said. ‘For one thing, I want to start thinking seriously about what to do with the baby’s room. It’s time we stripped off the old wallpaper and put some thought into what it will look like. What colour we paint it will have to wait until we know if it’s a boy or girl, but I can order the cot now along with some other stuff.’

James couldn’t help but smile. For years they had dreamt of having a baby but for a reason that had never been determined hadn’t been able to. Despondency had turned to despair and it even got to the point where they began discussing adoption. But then two months ago, at the age of thirty-six, Annie discovered that she was pregnant at last, and now they were looking forward to welcoming their offspring into the world in the middle of next summer.

‘I’d better get a move on,’ James said, kissing his wife’s forehead. ‘Shall I make you a cup of tea after I’ve showered?’

‘No, I’ll make you one along with some breakfast. If I stay here, I’ll probably fall back to sleep and I don’t want to.’

James heaved himself out of bed and stretched, curving his spine as he padded across the room to the window. He pulled back the curtain and looked out on the new day.

It had been another white Christmas in Cumbria, and the snow still covered their short driveway and the road in front of the house, along with the fields he could see beyond the village. Morning light was struggling through murky clouds and trees swayed in the wind and snatched at the sky.

It was a far cry from the view they used to have from their previous home in London, which they were now renting out. There all they could see were brick walls, rooftops and endless queues of traffic.

They’d made the move to Cumbria fourteen months ago, and after spending twenty years as a detective in the Met, it took James a while to adjust to what was a much quieter life. As much as he missed his family – who were scattered across North London – he now wouldn’t swap the rolling hills and lakes for anything. And there was no doubt in his mind that the land of Wordsworth and Beatrix Potter was a much better place to raise a child than the crime-infested capital.

He still found it hard to believe that he had already spent two Christmases here.

During the past twelve months he and Annie had carried out renovation work on their four-bedroom cottage, which had been left to Annie by her mother, and they’d made a conscious effort to play an active part in village life.

It had been easier for Annie to settle in because she’d lived in Kirkby Abbey before moving to London. For James it had been much more of a challenge, especially after the terrible events of a year ago when a serial killer went on a rampage in the village.

It took many months for the villagers to get over the shock of it and for life to return to near normal. But thankfully it had, and what had happened back then no longer dominated every conversation.

When James came out of the shower, he saw that Annie had already gone downstairs. He got dressed as quickly as he could, putting on a suit instead of jeans and a jumper for the first time in just over a week, and when he glanced at himself in the wardrobe mirror it made him sigh.

He’d got used to not wearing a shirt, tie and jacket, and he felt uncomfortable. But that was too bad because he didn’t have a choice. Coppers were always being reminded that they had to look smart and respectable in order to maintain public confidence.

When he walked into the kitchen a minute later he found Annie standing in front of the oven.

She turned towards him, and said, ‘Wow, I’d forgotten how dashing you are when you’re going to work.’

‘I think it’s time you started to wear glasses,’ he replied. ‘I’m forty years old with a paunch and hair that’s going grey.’

She smiled and it lit up her face. ‘That’s true, but when you’re wearing a suit those flaws are not so obvious.’

Teasing each other had always been one of the aspects of their marriage that he treasured. It kept them on their toes and never failed to liven up dull moments.

‘I’m making you a bacon sandwich and some coffee,’ she said, turning back to the oven. ‘Take a seat good sir and I’ll serve it up.’

Annie was wearing her thick pink dressing gown with a belt tied around the waist. As James sat at the table, he thought yet again how lucky he was to have her as his wife. As well as being beautiful, with delicate features, bright blue eyes and shiny long black hair, she was also kind, funny and considerate. He knew that if he ever lost her, he wouldn’t want to go on living.

She sat across the table from him while he drank his coffee and demolished his bacon sandwich, both of them watching the local news on the wall-mounted television.

It had been a relatively quiet Christmas in Cumbria for the emergency services. Very few serious crimes had been committed and, despite the heavy snowfalls, there hadn’t been many road accidents.

‘This is what I want to hear,’ James said. ‘With any luck I won’t even have to leave the office today.’

Annie nodded. ‘It’d be different if you were still working for the Met. I watched the national news while you were in the shower and they were saying that in London over the past three days there have been no less than six murders, five non-fatal stabbings and two arson attacks on commercial properties.’

James whistled out a breath. ‘Well that’s one of the good things about living in this part of the country. What happened here last year was a very rare event. I suspect it’ll be a long time before we see anything like it again. If we ever do.’

‘I hope you’re right,’ Annie said. ‘I’m still so relieved that we actually got through Christmas without another bout of bloodshed.’

James felt the same, although he didn’t want to admit it. He’d been worried that some psycho would decide to mark the first anniversary of those murders by embarking on another festive killing spree.

Thankfully, though, that didn’t happen.

CHAPTER TWO

Whenever James was reminded of the serial killer who struck in Kirkby Abbey a year ago, he found it hard not to dwell on it. Now, as he left the cottage and drove towards Kendal, the memories came rushing back.

He could still picture those dreadful crime scenes with unwelcome clarity, along with the blizzards that had hindered the investigation.

The media dubbed the perp ‘The Christmas Killer’ and the damage that was inflicted had left scars in the community that may never fully heal.

It had all started just seven weeks after he’d moved into his new home and his new job, and he was thrust right into the thick of it because the killer had contacted him personally. It had turned out to be one of the biggest and most disturbing cases James had ever worked on, but during the course of the investigation he’d got to know a great deal about Kirkby Abbey and the people who lived there.

The village was typical of many in the sprawling northern county of Cumbria that encompasses the Lake District and Yorkshire Dales National Parks. It had two pubs, a school, a monthly farmers’ market and a population of around seven hundred. And throughout the year it attracted lots of sightseers and fell walkers.

There was also the Catholic church of St John’s, which was supposed to have closed at the start of the year because of falling numbers in the congregation. However, just like the primary school, it had secured a reprieve, thanks to a funding boost from a campaign to save it and a government grant, and had been given a fresh lease of life with the appointment of a new priest.

It was a quiet village and, before last year’s murderous rampage, had been crime free, save for the occasional act of vandalism committed by bored youths. The county at large also had a low crime rate and was regarded as one of the safest areas to live in the UK.

The Constabulary consisted of over two thousand personnel, most of them active police officers, and operated from fourteen stations, including the one at Kendal where James was now employed.

As a detective inspector, James was one of the most senior officers based in the market town and had a highly professional team working with him.

Though not everyone welcomed him with open arms when he’d started. There were some who viewed him as an outsider and resented the fact that he had been given the job that another long-serving detective had expected to get. Others just couldn’t fathom why he would want to move from the busy metropolis to a county where nothing much happened. His stock answer was that he and his wife no longer enjoyed living in London and so had seized the opportunity to move to Kirkby Abbey after Annie inherited the family home from her mother.

He’d not told most people the real reason; only a small number of his superior officers were privy to that information.

The twenty-five-mile drive to Kendal took James through some of Britain’s most stunning countryside, and as the sun had made an appearance, the landscape was displayed in all its glory.

Winter had stripped the fells of life and laid down a carpet of snow that was criss-crossed by a web of low dry-stone walls. Wind ruffled the tops of the trees and ice-covered streams glittered like precious gems.

James had never realised just how beautiful the area was until he’d moved here, and he had since come to fully appreciate why it was regarded as one of the ‘crown jewels’ of England. The stunning landscape contained a treasure trove of spectacular and unusual features – dramatic waterfalls, brooding lakes, deep ravines, awesome cave systems and towering white cliffs. Now a resident, he was determined to make the most of it and in the future planned to visit as many places as possible with his wife and their son or daughter.

He arrived at the station on the dot at nine, and found that most of his colleagues were already in the office. Several had got there just before him and were in the process of unwrapping themselves from winter coats and scarves.

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